5 Times Melding was Painful for McCoy
by Danzinora Switch
Summary: ...and one time it wasn't. Chronicling the melds post Mirror, Mirror, beginning with Spectre of the Gun. He just thought this was normal. Suck it up, soldier. But why was it getting worse?


**A/N: Hello! So I've always wanted to do a '5 Times' story, and this plot bunny was scampering through my head and I realized that it would make a great guinea pig. This is after Mirror, Mirror and begins with Spectre of the Gun, then continues through the five year mission. By Any Other Name is also referenced, mainly Spock's trick on himself with the Kelvans. I do not own anything, accept the sheep (which you'll understand later). Reviews appreciated! Enjoy!**

* * *

 **One**

He decided to look at it as a necessary evil.

There wasn't much time to internally prep for it, but he distinctly remembered coming to that conclusion before it was his turn for the meld. Scotty was standing there placidly, relaxed, and here Leonard McCoy was trying not to panic.

Spock meant well. He really did. McCoy knew that. But he was still skittish about the entire thing. Couldn't he just convince himself that the western set and bullets weren't real?

Spock spared a second for McCoy to look at him, and then carefully placed his fingers on the meld points.

"My mind to yours…"

His entire face went slack.

It had the weird feeling of somebody holding him up only by his head. He couldn't tell if this was actually true, or only a sensation from the meld. Whatever it was, it left him "paralyzed" in a sense. Spock projected the necessary thoughts, and McCoy was completely malleable. Of course Spock controlled the mind meld. McCoy couldn't even _think_ on his own.

He did know that the longer the meld lasted, the more pressure it built.

It was… discomforting. He would have squirmed if he'd had the strength. It was like a dull ache transforming into a growing headache. He breathed a sigh of relief and swayed when Spock ended the experience.

Oh well. On to another day.

* * *

 **Two**

He knew it would hurt.

They always did, didn't they?

It had to be done, though. He glanced around, to see where their guards were. Spock checked in the other direction.

Okay, _technically_ they weren't guards, they were escorts, though the delicacy of the situation regulated them to the same category. The ship had received some disturbing information on what was going on behind closed doors in Durham's government, and naturally the _Enterprise_ was sent to investigate the anonymous claims. The thinly-veiled hostility their hosts had presented to them gave no one illusions about the visit. So naturally, when Spock and McCoy wandered off on their own to check the laboratories, they had been assigned two "escorts".

McCoy was sickened by what he'd seen. In this operation, it was kept secret that he was a doctor. These goons would have never allowed anyone who knew anything about medicine to get a look at what was going on- because then they would know the truth. Jim was still off with the president (as if he deserved that title) to give McCoy the opportunity to evaluate the labs and thus, confirm the report. Spock was there to back him up.

But they couldn't say anything. Not without revealing who they were, fully. The guards watched them, and they couldn't write down anything back in their quarters, either. The zoom on the cameras alone would catch it.

Spock stood him in the center of the room, a studying eyebrow raised. McCoy knew their silent communication very well, but it ended at simple sayings. This was much bigger.

He also knew the solution that Spock proposed. He sighed heavily.

Best to get it over with.

He did manage to brace himself this time, but was still floored by the sharp sensation of thousands of needles in his brain. He clenched his teeth, determined to ride through it.

 _Doctor, something in the laboratories alarmed you. What did you see?_

Huh. Apparently whatever pain he was feeling was physical. Mind melds, just operating on a mental plane, rose above the physical sensations of each mind. Spock didn't know.

He forced himself through the needles to think up an answer. Screw words. In desperation he just threw all of his observations, understandings, and conclusions (worries) at Spock and hoped the Vulcan got them.

Dimly, he saw Spock's eyes widen. It was the last image he saw before he couldn't see anything but black anymore.

 _Doctor, it is imperative that we reach the captain. I have a plan that will get us past the guards, but we must move quickly._

Broken images in mind's eye filtered through to Leonard, but they stung when he looked at them. Squinting, he could just make out what Spock wanted them to do.

Yeah. Sure.

I'll be more than glad to troop along, Spock, as your loyal squire and helper, just let me take a moment to regain my vision and footing, yes siree, and I'll be hopping right along after you.

He thought it. Distantly. No idea if Spock heard it.

McCoy felt a pressure leave his face and he caught himself from stumbling. The meld had ended. He blinked profusely, trying to will his sight back faster. It slowly faded in, though the pincushions in his head mostly remained.

Spock was moving. Wait, were they already attacking the guards? Cursing to himself, McCoy ran and launched himself at where he thought the nearest guard was. He tackled somebody and they rolled on the ground. An elbow only skimmed the side of his head, but it made him very dizzy. Suddenly the guard was gone and Spock pulled him up to his feet.

"Noble, Doctor, however I must remind you that nerve-pinches are much quicker and quieter."

"Shut up, Spock," he grimaced.

He could see that annoying eyebrow arch up, and then fall as Spock resumed command of the situation. "Come." They set off briskly down the hall, McCoy trying to keep up. He rubbed the side of his head, trying to stop the dizziness. It'll pass, it'll pass.

They found Jim, and announced to the world the secrets of Durham. McCoy only started feeling better right before they beamed up. Hah. Figures.

* * *

 **Three**

"Are you telling me," he exclaimed incredulously. "That this whole world is full of telepathic _sheep_?"

"Lethorians, Doctor."

McCoy waved him off. "Right, right." He looked out at the peacefully grazing animals. "It just seems so bizarre," he commented.

"Be that as it may, I trust that your earth stereotype will not affect relations with this species," Spock mentioned, slightly coldly.

McCoy snorted. "Of course not. It just takes we humans a moment to adjust to a change such as this. Not everyone can just flip a switch and accept something as a new norm."

"Perhaps that would explain why various forms of human injustice persisted for so long in your planet's history," Spock replied dryly.

"Now listen here, you-"

"Bones, Spock, enjoying the landscape?"

McCoy huffed and rolled his eyes as Jim joined them. "Yes, actually. For once we're on a planet where the dominant intelligent species _isn't_ tempting you to take off your pants."

Jim gave him a playful glare. "That's discrimination, Bones."

"It's bestiality is what it is."

"The Lethorians have a remarkable language system," Spock redirected. "Since they can telecommunicate, concepts are highly condensed and complex. They can share actual experiences, and have no future tense."

"Fascinating," McCoy said dryly. "Well, I want to know why they eat some plants but not others. Are they poisonous? Holy? Where's Sulu for this?"

"Doctor, if you just speak with the Lethorians, you would not need Lt. Sulu. I can perform a meld that would allow for the Lethorian mind and yours to meet in the middle and-"

"No thanks, Spock," McCoy said. "Not that I don't trust you, it's just that I like to discover things the old-fashioned way."

"A rather illogical route. The amount of time that would be saved-"

"Yeah, well, then do it with someone else." McCoy adjusted his tricorder and turned to Jim. "Keep this elf out of trouble."

Kirk grinned. "I'll try."

McCoy left before Spock could comment on their exchange.

He wandered over and started taking readings at the edge of the woods where a few sheep, erm, Lethorians, were grazing. He maintained a respectful distance, and carefully observed them as they avoided the small, blue flowers that sprouted up here and there.

"Huh," he said aloud. He took closer readings of the flowers, but found nothing unusual about them. Maybe it was something the tricorder couldn't detect, but that the sheep could. McCoy slung his equipment to the side and reached down for a small flower.

His hand was blocked by a pair of rough horns.

McCoy looked up and the ram sternly looked back at him. He held up his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry," he said. "What is so special about these?"

The ram stomped a hoof.

"Oh right, you probably can't understand me." McCoy frowned. "And I can't understand you. Sorry pal, I guess we'll have to figure out some sign language."

"Not necessarily, Doctor." They turned as Spock approached. He rested his hand on the ram's head. McCoy watched them silently for a moment.

"He is offended that you would try to pick a _laikuy_ ," Spock said after a moment. "They are sacred."

"Oh," McCoy exclaimed. "So that's why. I'm sorry," he said again to the sheep.

"He does not understand that, Doctor."

"Then tell him I'm sorry."

Spock tilted his head. "That may be a bit difficult. Because they can share complete experiences, mentally, they do not trust anything close to hearsay. If one only says that another said or did or feels something, it is taken as a lie, because if it was true, the experience of when they did that would be shared, and not just a tale of it."

"So you're saying I have to show him I'm sorry?" McCoy confirmed.

"That you truly mean it."

"How do I do that?"

"You could join us in this meld," Spock offered.

McCoy winced. "Any other options?"

"None that would be satisfactory for him."

McCoy looked around and anxiously wrung his hands. "Maybe I could pet him or something."

"Doctor, we do not want to upset a new species by something that can be so easily resolved."

"I know the diplomatic protocol, Spock," McCoy snapped harshly.

"Then why do you resist it?"

McCoy set his mouth in a thin line. He boldly marched up to Spock and almost stuck his head in his personal space. "Fine! Get it over with."

Spock did not react to his emotionalism. He delicately lifted his hand back up to McCoy's face.

"Communication between the two of you will be private," he informed as he started the meld. "I merely act as a table…" his words were fading.

It burned. It seriously burned. It didn't matter that the meld was different, it just felt even worse.

 _I'm sorry!_ he choked out honestly. His brain felt like liquid acid and he floundered around in it, unsure where was what or who was who.

There was a confusion. The sheep was confused, and concerned. It did not understand why he was being punished by his crewmember for such a forgivable offense.

McCoy's confusion echoed in turn. He wasn't being punished. What on earth was it talking about?

But he was in pain, as the sheep understood it. Surely that meant punishment.

 _No_ , McCoy thought, either to himself or the Lethorian. _It's just always like this_.

And it was definitely getting worse.

It had to stop. Both of them understood this.

The meld ended and McCoy was so surprised that he didn't gasp for air right away. He stood with his feet apart and squinted at Spock. The Vulcan's hands were at his sides.

"I trust, all has been forgiven?" he said serenely.

Damn private Vulcans. Damn respect of privacy.

"Yeah," McCoy said. To his ears his voice sounded fogged. "Diplomatic crisis averted."

Spock nodded evenly. "In that case, I will return to the captain." He inclined his head at the Lethorian and left. McCoy watched him climb over the hill, and then collapsed to the ground, panting raggedly.

Oh, God, his head hurt, his chest hurt, he felt like he had a heart problem, even though that wasn't true. He struggled to regain control of his breathing. It felt like there was a huge weight on his chest and his limbs just sprawled limply in the grass. He gasped and sweated, trying to find his footing.

Something nuzzled against his temple, and he looked over to see the ram staring down at him, deep concern in his eyes. McCoy weakly reached up a hand and rubbed its snout.

"I'll be alright," he whispered weakly. "It'll be fine soon."

* * *

 **Four**

Why did this keep happening?

Mind melds were supposed to be a _rare_ thing, at least for humans.

Even as he thought that, he chastised himself for being so selfish. Spock clearly had something important he needed to say, and he couldn't do it with a broken jaw.

Leonard eyed the guards that held the bruised Vulcan up. He didn't trust them. Which one broke his jaw? A surge of rage welled up inside of McCoy.

But there was no time for that. However Spock had managed to secure this meeting, the time they had to talk was short. McCoy sucked in a deep breath and stepped forward.

Spock's arm trembled, but his fingers met the meld points on the first try.

McCoy's jaw clicked shut and he ground his teeth hard. He had a reputation for being stoic for a reason, however. He didn't cry or beg on Minara and he sure as hell wasn't going to now.

The pain had increased a tenfold since last time.

He did his best to focus on what Spock was showing him, he really did. The onslaught of images and deductions felt extremely heavy and sharp in his head. McCoy gagged, but kept his stomach down. His fists clenched so tight he knew he was drawing blood from his palms. He would have screamed had he had the breath. Hold on and focus. Focus. Hold on. Hold on, hold on holdon holdonholdon…

It ended abruptly when the guards pulled Spock back. It felt like ripping Velcro, or duct tape off of hair. McCoy reeled inside, but stayed frozen by all outward appearances. The guards dragged Spock away, and McCoy was alone again in his tiny cell.

He fell to the floor and shook violently.

He couldn't stop it. Try as he might, he just couldn't. He was shaking so violently he was practically convulsing. His chest spasmed and seized and he struggled to take in enough air.

The pain was white in his mind.

Sometimes he came to himself and was aware of his surroundings. He shivered excessively in those moments. He was so cold. The sweat drying on his body and the stone floor didn't help. McCoy could only rest on his side and stare at the wall as he tried to muster up enough strength to move.

He threw up once.

Eventually (he'd lost track of all sense of time) he'd managed to sit up against a wall and try to form a few thoughts. Spock. Spock was in trouble. Was he still alive? He hoped the Vulcan hadn't been killed while after-effects were wreaking havoc on his body.

At least he knew where to look.

McCoy just focused on getting his strength back as quickly as possible. He'd have to operate on a low energy level. Last time it took a few days before the pain and other symptoms had finally vanished. He didn't have that kind of time.

Well, he did. But Spock didn't.

There was clanging sound and McCoy brought his head up. Relief flooded him. Kirk motioned him to be quiet as he tried to work the set of keys again. McCoy took the interval to study his captain and evaluate his injuries. Other than a little unkempt and roughed up he seemed fine.

Kirk finally got his door open and helped McCoy to his feet. "Am I glad to see you," he said warmly, supporting the older man.

"Feeling's mutual," McCoy responded wearily.

Kirk frowned at him as he swayed slightly when he let go. "Are you okay? Did they do anything to you?"

McCoy waved him off. "I'm fine, but we need to get to Spock. Had a broken jaw among other injuries last I saw him."

Kirk instantly snapped to attention. "We need to find him. You check the right cells, I'll check the left-"

"Jim, he's not there, he's somewhere else." McCoy moved forward and stopped, putting a hand on his belly to stay his sudden nausea. "I know where he is," he began more calmly. "Down the hall there is a door on our left. That's where they've been taking him. There are, at any given time, 3 to 5 guards inside, all armed. The door on our right, however, holds our phasers and communicators. We need to get those first before we attempt any rescue."

"Good eye, Bones," Kirk said, setting off. McCoy frowned in confusion before realizing that Kirk thought he knew all this because he'd been taken to see Spock, instead of the other way around. Oh well, they'd clear up the details in the official report.

He walked carefully out of his cell, feeling fragile. Always good to feel that way when you're following Jim Kirk into battle trying not to get killed. Joy.

All he remembered after that was a whirl of phaser fire, the tingling of the transporter, a Sickbay crisis, pointed ears, and sleeping in his room for 19 hours straight while trying to hold on to his sanity.

* * *

 **Five**

Kirk paced back and forth. "There's got to be a way out of here."

"The opportunity has yet to present itself," Spock commented.

"So we make our own opportunity!" Kirk snapped. He sighed and rifled a hand through his hair. "Sorry, Spock."

"It is a stressful situation," the Vulcan amended.

"How come your forgive him for losing his cool, but not me?" McCoy asked pointedly.

"Your emotional outbursts are rarely constructive," was the reply.

"I'll show you con-"

" _Gentlemen_."

Those in blue shut up.

Kirk rubbed his face. "They're not talking to us. But it's because they're afraid. What if we use that fear? Make it seem like Capaitluo will harm them if they _don't_ listen to us."

"Capaitluo's hold over this colony has been strong for approximately 3 years," Spock said. "It will be difficult to get anyone to go against him when they have been afraid for so long."

"They should know that kidnapping Starfleet crewmen will just make things worse!"

"Doctor, they are terrified people living under the rule of a madman. One cannot expect them to act rationally."

"Finally get to hear you admit it."

"This isn't helping," Kirk turned on his heel again. "We need to contact the ship, and make it imperative to the colonists that we must do so. Ideas?"

"There's always the 'one of us is sick and dying' trick," McCoy offered.

"Good, but we'd need to really sell that. Do we have anything better?"

"Captain, in the interest of the colonists, it would do good to show that they aided our escape, however small. They are victims, too."

"You got something more specific in mind?"

"If all three of us acted ill, or in other ways that our health was of grave concern to them, then it may spurn them to call the Enterprise themselves, thus showing compassion and aid, which are viewed upon favorably in court."

"Warming up to the locals, are we?" McCoy joked.

Spock shook his head. "I am merely understanding the majority of the colonists' innocence in this matter."

"Playing the long con. I like it." Kirk stopped pacing and thought for a moment. "Spock, that same trick you did, back with the Kelvans- can it work on humans?"

"Theoretically, yes."

"Good. That gives us three believable states requiring outside assistance. Let's do this."

McCoy chuckled nervously. "Shouldn't one of us stay clear in the head, though? That way if something goes wrong there'll be somebody around to intervene."

"Good point, Bones," Kirk agreed. "I'll stay awake."

"Now wait just a minute," McCoy got to his feet off the bench. "I'm the doctor here, and so I'm best equipped to handle any medical crises while y'all are in such a coma. I should be the one to stay up."

"Bones, if there are any problems it strengthens the need to call the ship, which is our primary goal here. I'll handle those proceedings."

"Excuse me, but I can operate a communicator just as well as the next person!"

"And handling the colonists-"

"You ever _seen_ me snare cooperation in a medical crisis before?"

"Bones, _I'm going to-_ "

"Gentlemen, you both have valid points," Spock interrupted. "As do I. However, none of us can all stay awake, and none of us can all be entranced. Therefore, let us execute this decision logically. No matter who stays up, I will still be the last to entrance myself. I may stay awake to ensure that the colonists notice our plight, and then send myself in a light trance so that I may observe the reactions, and yet be able to respond in case of emergency."

"Logical, as always, Spock," Kirk nodded. "I agree."

"But Jim-" McCoy protested.

"Bones, we need to hurry this up. We don't have time to argue. That's an order."

McCoy's shoulders slackened and he nodded. "I'll try, Jim," he said hoarsely.

Kirk frowned in confusion.

Spock approached McCoy first, who took a deep breath. Kirk watched as the doctor centered himself, and Spock carefully reached up his hands.

"Our minds are merging…"

McCoy sucked in breath sharply and grasped Spock's arms. The meld had just begun and it was already too much. His eyes watered at the pain. Too much. It had to be done. He couldn't go on. It was necessary for survival. But this would kill him.

The blinding pain increased and McCoy finally broke and gasped. "Spock, stop," he pleaded. "Please… stop…"

Spock stopped immediately, and Kirk walked closer to see what was wrong. McCoy's knuckles were pure white around Spock's blue fabric, and his arms shook with his breath. Kirk put a hand on his shoulder, steadying him.

"What's wrong?"

"I can't, I'm sorry, I can't do it, it hurts too much," McCoy panted hard. Kirk rubbed his shoulder when he swayed alarmingly and looked at Spock. Both eyebrows had shot way up into his hairline. "Doctor?

McCoy's head drooped and he swayed forward into Spock. "It hurts so much…" His face twisted in a hard grimace before his knees buckled. McCoy crashed to the ground as a dead weight, Spock and Kirk right there with him.

"Bones!"

"Doctor?!"

McCoy arched his back and let out an unholy scream before he started convulsing.

"Holy shit, Spock _he's seizing!_ "

"Elevate his-"

" _Get help!_ "

"Medical scanner readings are all over the place-"

"BONES!"

"Help! Emergency!"

McCoy let out another scream.

* * *

 **One**

Were Spock a pacer, he would have worn a hole in the carpet long since now.

As it was, he sat still as a statue and furiously compiled data.

Next to him, the medical monitor thumped reassuringly.

The fact that it was thumping at all still worried him.

Kirk slept fitfully on an abandoned biobed. He tossed and turned, finding only a restless slumber. Spock knew what demons he faced. He faced them too.

Perhaps on a more personal level.

He looked to where McCoy rested on the active biobed. The doctor's face was pale, and a warm blanket covered him, but his breathing was even and his heartbeat stronger. They'd had several scares where his systems kept trying to collapse.

And Spock felt responsible.

Of course, he could not confirm his hypothesis until McCoy was awake, but he'd formed some strong evidence in the meantime. McCoy had always disliked mind melds, but even so went to great lengths to avoid them.

Had they always caused him pain?

Why was he not informed of this?

Kirk groaned in his sleep and Spock finally rose and placed a hand on his forehead, stilling him. Kirk settled back down. Spock retreated next to McCoy and observed him silently. He looked down at the hand he had calmed Kirk with. Did it cause that much damage to another?

McCoy shifted and hummed. Spock stilled, watching him. "Doctor?"

Wearily, McCoy blinked his eyes open. The blue was bloodshot and glassy, but gradually focused on the ceiling and then Spock's face.

"Hey."

Spock's shoulders relaxed. The doctor was not angry? How peculiar.

"What happened?" McCoy slurred.

Spock straightened. "When I attempted to meld us, to enact our escape, you asked me to stop and then fell into a seizure."

McCoy blinked at him. "Oh," he said at last, the memory catching up to him. "I guess I did."

They lapsed back into silence.

"Doctor," Spock hesitated. "Leonard."

McCoy looked at him.

"How long have you been experiencing pain during mind melds?"

McCoy blinked again and tiredly shrugged. "Dunno… since forever, I suppose."

"I was not aware of any difficulties on Melkot."

The doctor furrowed his brow. "What? Oh, no," he turned his head away. "Before that."

"You've had mind melds before?" Spock's brain began turning with the possibility of a meld allergy.

"Just one," McCoy shrugged.

Spock lowered his eyebrows. He recalled the meld on Melkot. It was the first time he had melded with the doctor and it had been- peculiar. It must have been another Vulcan to have melded with him. Yet, he recalled, the doctor's mind had been surprisingly open. Normally melds are a gradual merging, but when he'd melded with McCoy it was as if they were already in a full meld right at the beginning. Since then, it had gradually progressed like normal, and yet McCoy increasingly avoided them. Because the pain was intensifying.

Spock rose. "Describe the first meld, Doctor," he stated.

McCoy shifted uneasily. "It was with your counterpart- in the parallel universe? He melded with me."

"For what reason?"

"He asked me a question. I wouldn't answer. There wasn't time."

Spock stilled. "Did he have your permission?"

"There wasn't time-"

" _Did he have your permission?_ "

"What do you want me to say?" McCoy grumbled. "I didn't even know that's what he was going to do until he started doing it. No? I didn't know what was going on!"

"Why did you not tell me melding was painful?"

"I don't know, Spock! Aren't they supposed to hurt a little?"

Spock had been cold but his voice became icy. "In no sense. Even the slightest discomfort is cause for alarm. It should have never progressed this far." He walked over to the comm and hailed M'Benga. "McCoy's awake. We need to get to Vulcan."

"Spock," McCoy called.

"Doctor, you cannot be expected to make your own medical judgements at this time-"

"Now wait just a minute!" McCoy struggled to get out of bed and the ruckus finally awoke Kirk.

"Bones!" he rushed over to his friend and started peppering him with questions. M'Benga also appeared and took some readings, his face grave. Amidst all the commotion, Spock disappeared.

 _One week later_

McCoy sat in the office in the Vulcan hospital. His fingers nervously played with a pill bottle. His left foot tapped anxiously.

He didn't like waiting rooms. He was too used to being on the other side of the door. Still, it was better than some backwoods voodoo. McCoy thanked the stars again that Vulcans were an advanced race and had actual medicines for afflictions. For some reason his mind had conjured up images of rituals, herbs, and healers instead of doctors.

They'd assessed his situation enough. He'd survived a mental attack but as his mind healed it healed wrong. Thus, every time Spock melded with him, he was breaking back through the scar tissue, which explained why the pain got worse over time.

Though no one said it, he could tell that they disapproved of him waiting so long for help. It would have been easily fixable right after the attack. Now, it had almost healed incorrectly permanently.

Thankfully, there were neuro-stimulations and treatments from that. It wouldn't be fixed entirely, but most of the damage was cleared. He was prescribed a medicine to take that would dull any residual pain when melding. The pills started working within 15 minutes.

And so now here he was for a follow-up visit. A Vulcan nurse called his name and he got up and followed her into a comfortable office. He stopped just inside the door when he saw who was inside.

"Dr. Sitar," he acknowledged. "Spock?"

Spock inclined his head. "Doctor."

"Spock will be performing the cursory test meld," Sitar explained calmly. "This is to make sure that the pills are functioning and to adjust the dosage if necessary."

"I know," McCoy replied. "But why Spock?"

Spock shifted- subtly, but McCoy noticed.

"Doctor, I feel partly responsible for your condition, and would like to extend my apologies."

McCoy blinked. "It wasn't you, Spock."

"Be that as it may, my actions did worsen the situation." Spock stepped forward. "I would like to show you how a meld is _supposed_ to proceed."

McCoy looked between the two of them. He fingered the pill bottle again. "Yeah, sure. Okay."

"You took a pill?" Sitar checked.

"Yep, before I came in here."

Sitar took out a medical scanner as Spock approached. McCoy squashed down his unease. He had medicine. He could do this.

Gingerly, Spock placed his hand on the meld points. "My mind… to yours…"

There was a tiny, warm, light in the middle of McCoy's mind. It gradually grew and grew, until it completely enveloped him. He was startled at the clarity. "Oh!"

It was Spock. Or Spock's mind. They were entwined together as one consciousness.

 _Do you see?_ Spock thought, and his words (and much more) rung through the glow with startling clarity.

 _Yes,_ McCoy replied, and was surprised when it chimed through the glow just as strong. _Oh! This is two-way!_

 _Indeed_ , though McCoy sensed a twinge of grief with the thought. Mind melds were never supposed to be just one way.

 _How are you feeling?_

McCoy contemplated. There was a distant echo of an ache, but it was completely manageable. _Fine, actually. My compliments to the Vulcan staff. I think they nailed the dosage._

The glow increased. _That is gratifying to hear._ The glow started shrinking, and then it disappeared completely. McCoy blinked in the room's lights.

"How was it?" Sitar asked placidly.

"Good." McCoy tilted his head. "Kind of nice, actually."

Sitar nodded. "Spock?"

"Likewise," he answered.

McCoy smiled. Outside of the meld, he couldn't even feel the ache.

They set up his prescription and finalized bills. McCoy took his bottle, and a backup, with him when they returned to the Enterprise. Spock caught his arm before he broke off for Sickbay. "Doctor."

McCoy turned to him.

Spock was silent, but finally looked at him. "If you ever feel such pain again, I want you to let Jim and I know immediately."

McCoy grinned faintly, aware of what the Vulcan was offering. "Noted, Spock," he replied. He opened his mouth again, but the words couldn't come out.

Spock noticed, but conceded (gladly) his point. "You're welcome." He turned and strode for the bridge.

Left to his privacy, McCoy chuckled contentedly. "Finicky Vulcan," he murmured.

"Thank you."


End file.
